


Tales From Westeros

by MiHnn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Family, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, House Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers, The Night's Watch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/pseuds/MiHnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of un-related gen-fic centering around different characters written for different comment memes and ficathons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Change of Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Character: Jon Snow (A Game of Thrones)  
> Prompt :
> 
>   
> _Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky;_  
>  And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.  
> As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back --  
> For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.  
> 
> 
> \- Rudyard Kipling, **The Jungle Book**  
> 

_I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post._

Those were the words that he had spoken while kneeling before the old gods and those were the vows he was breaking as he rode long and hard with Ghost by his side. He was not as strong as Aemon or Mormont, nor did he have a sense of duty like Sam. He was a bastard born Northman and he would never amount to anything more. It was more than a thousand leagues between him and his brother and Jon knew he would think of nothing else.

His loyalty was to his family; to Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Sansa. His loyalty was to Ice which he would gladly use to slit the throat of the boy king who had taken the life of his father.

The grip he had on the reigns tightened as he kicked his mount to move faster, the memory of warning words burrowing deep in his mind.

 _"It is a treacherous thing, to play the game of thrones,"_ Aemon had said amidst the furs that surrounded him, his fingers shaking despite the fire that roared beside him. _"The rules are many. One could easily lose his soul and honour. Your father is an honourable man, is he not, Jon Snow? My father used to believe that honourable men had no place on the Iron Throne. The rules are many,"_ he repeated, a cough escaping him before he continued. _"And those who do not follow the rules hardly ever live to tell the tale."_

Had that happened to his father? Was it his honour that killed him? Was he unable to follow the rules and play the game the way it was meant to be played? No, he decided. If his father did not choose to play the game then the rules of the game were wrong.

Jon continued to quicken his movements, intent on leaving behind Castle Black and his sworn brothers, but the sound behind him gave him pause. Had he not turned his mount around and moved swiftly towards the brothers that had followed him to convince them to let him be, he would not have heard the words, the reminder of the promise he had made tightening his chest.

"I am the watcher on the walls," they said together. "I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all nights to come."

He was no Stark. As much as he wanted to ride to meet Robb and protect his brother from harm, he couldn't. _You are stronger together,_ his father had always said. _Stronger with the blood of the Starks and the gods of old._

Could Robb survive the game of thrones without his brothers and sisters? Without his family around him?

Robb would have to forgive him for the choice he had made. He had forsaken their pack to join another. Jon could only pray that his brother was strong enough alone; that he was strong enough to _win_.


	2. His Role

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character: Ned Stark (Pre-series)  
> Prompts: Logical, Dormouse, Fetlock

He rode long and hard, choosing not to eat, not to sleep unless he felt his body tire from the strain. After two days of pushing his mount to the limit, Ned had to admit defeat. His mount limped with the strain on its ankle because of what Ned had put him through and he felt a pang of guilt for making his steed suffer for his own heart’s sadness. He knew he had no choice but to rest. With great difficulty he found an abandoned, wooden house, something close to crumbling to the ground, but for a weary traveller, it would suffice. He tended to his horse, his actions gentle in form of an apology before he entered the dusty domain. 

Feeling older than his years, Eddard Stark leaned against the wall and fell to the floor, letting his body show the first signs of weakness since he had heard dark tidings.

His brother, _dead_. And now he was to be the next Lord of Winterfell and marry a woman he did not love. 

The moment the dark wings had brought dark words, Ned had started to Winterfell, following the summons of his father. Yet, his heart felt too heavy to move. How he wished Robert were with him. He could probably make him laugh or worse, cry. 

Ned had seen her once, the woman who would share his bed. She had been radiant, her hair flaming fire. But she had loved his brother. Ned knew this. He had never wanted to be Lord of Winterfell. He had always thought that Brandon was a warrior equal to any God and therefore he could never fall. 

How wrong Ned had been. 

A rustling sound caused his head to rise quickly. He watched silently as a small mouse scurried and scuttled each movement bringing him closer. Ned opened the satchel at his side deftly before pulling out a small piece of hard cheese. 

“Are you hungry, little one?” he found himself asking as he tossed the cheese a fair distance away from the rodent. The mouse ran away, hesitated, then came back to take big bites. 

Smiling to himself, Ned broke off another small piece of cheese and watched the mouse lunge for it. “I’m glad one of us is hungry,” he whispered to himself before he buried his head in his hands. 

He wanted nothing more than for this nightmare to end.


	3. You Will Be My Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character: Rickon Stark (A Storm of Swords)  
> Prompt: Rickon only has one memory from before the war, and he desperately clings to it.

He remembers red. His fingers would pull on the strands, sometimes soft, sometimes rough, but Rickon remembers its colour the most. He remembers wrapping the red around his finger, of ducking his head and laughing at the sighs of a mother he once knew. He remembers being tickled with red leaning over him, its movement swaying and happy like how he always was… Like he once was. 

But there is no red where he is now. There are greys, browns, greens and black. The colours are duller without the red, they are unhappier, he can’t help but think.

So, he buries his face into Shaggydog’s fur and breathes in the scent of Winterfell, while his fingers rub against the rough, short hairs of his direwolf, as he remembers the red, the laughter, the sighs and the tickles. 

He remembers the red the most, but if he closes his eyes hard enough, if he thinks back to what he can, he remembers the smile of a woman crowned in red and for a while, he is happy.


	4. A Howl in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost (AU)  
> Prompt: Ghost starts to howl when he feels the death of his mate, Jon tries to comfort him.

The sound pierces through the darkness of night, sudden, unbridled with a hollow feeling of pain in its wake. Jon tightens his furs around him as a shiver rakes his spine.

_Ghost._

Jon recognises the sound as if it is his own. They are one and the same, they are more than master and wolf.

He stands atop of the wall, another man in black, another crow, staring into the north while waiting for the dreaded monsters to charge forwards. He had not expected the sound he had heard. He had expected silence on such a night as this. He wonders if the sound is a warning, for his wolf was always silent, never more than a whimper would be passed unless provoked.

The howl of the wolf is heard again, and around him, his brothers take notice, raising their faces from hushed conversation to listen for the sound of war, for the sound of walking dead. The sound is continuous and aching, muffled from the woods it comes from.

 _He’s hurt_ , Jon thinks suddenly. _He is in agony._

He means to leave immediately. His wolf is in pain and he must go to him. He worries that Ghost might die.

“It is not wise to go to him, Lord Snow,” a voice says from beside him. The red lady stands only in a thin dress, her skin unaffected by the cold as her red hair brushes her cheek for the wind.

“He is in pain,” Jon says curtly, intending to move but her arm on his sleeve stops him.

Her eyes gaze into his, her hand warm on his arm. “In pain, yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

They pause as another howl is heard, drawn out and agonisingly long. A whimper follows, the sound carried by an echo of the lands.

“He is hurt,” she says gently, her face turning to where the sound comes from. “He has lost a loved one.” Her eyes meet his, fiery flames burning in their depths. “He is in mourning.”

Jon pauses to listen, hearing the whimpers just as his men do. “Who—“ And then he stops, knowing that his wolf has five other siblings and they are all lost to them both. He stares at the red lady wondering if she knows whom he has lost never to return.

She takes away her hand. “It is time to rest, Lord Snow. The night is dark and full of terrors, we cannot always predict what is to come.”

He does not listen to her counsel. He stays at his post on the Wall, waiting for Ghost to return. But, his wolf does not return to him. He howls throughout the night, whimpering at times and growling at others, and the sound travels clearly until his brothers eye him warily. It is a dying hope Jon holds in his chest as he stays awake, his eyes studying what lies beyond the wall for what he hopes is the safe return of his only reminder to home.

Once the sun rises and the raven has come, bringing tidings from the self-made king, Stannis Baratheon, Jon reads the letter with a heavy heart. A king is dead, it says. The king in the north is no more, betrayed by his own sworn bannerman, the direwolf's head taking the place of his own.

The tears come unbidden, blurring his sight and falling onto the ink that speaks of his brother’s death.

The gentle nudge of a wet snout, bumping against his slackened hand is the only relief he has. And so Jon sits beside him, letting warm fur contort around him as he mourns the brother he has lost, just as surely as his wolf mourns the loss of his.


End file.
